


Karkat: do it on the first date.

by Laylah



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Come Inflation, F/M, First Time, Hermaphroditic Trolls, Knotting, Piercing, Romance, Xeno
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 21:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/666530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laylah/pseuds/Laylah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You sit down in your computer chair and try not to squirm or shiver too much when she brushes your hair back from your earflap. You've never had anything pierced, and you think it probably can't be worse than getting injured during the game, but it's hard to relax all the same. You weren't just sitting and waiting to get hurt then.</p>
<p>"Aight," Meenah says. "Let's get this shoal on the road."</p>
<p>"Do it," you say. You close your eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Karkat: do it on the first date.

You don't really hate the dream bubbles on principle anymore. You still hate most of them in practice, sure, but you're not opposed to the idea quite so strenuously. Just opposed to all the ones full of stupid shit.

So you're cautious when the meteor slides into another one, but you're not outright, immediately out of patience with it. You stumble into the weirdness of dream space with your guard up, is all. You'd hate to run into Eridan's creepy dancestor again or god forbid your own. Some of the others, though....

"Hey, Vantas!" you hear from behind you, and the universe must have forgotten you exist tonight, because that's the voice of someone you actually wouldn't mind seeing again. You turn around to see Meenah waving at you as she strolls up, grinning that cocky shark grin of hers. "How's ma Grand Threshie?"

Your ears burn but you don't feel nearly as silly about that as you expect to. "Still up to my ass in unbearable chumps," you say. "How about you?"

"Man, tell me aboat it," Meenah says. She fetches up short, inside arm's reach, close enough that you wonder if that kind of shit was acceptable on Beforus. With an Alternian, you'd know: inside striking range means intimate. But her culture was defective. "Beaches don't know what the shell they're doing."

"At least you can, uh, take refuge here for a while, I guess?" you say, and you're not prepared at _all_ for her to throw a lanky arm around your shoulders but you can't complain. (When was the last time anyone touched you? When was the last time you were even within arm's reach of someone who liked you enough for that?)

"Sounds like a prawn," Meenah says. "Shoal me around, yeah?"

"Yeah," you say. "Sure." Maybe you should have said _shore_. Maybe that would just have been sucking up. You'd probably have felt stupid.

You show her around the meteor lab. It's really not that exciting, you don't think, but she keeps her arm over your shoulders the whole time and you feel stupidly good about being touched, even if it's just a weird Beforan thing and she doesn't mean it the way someone else would. It's still _nice_. Someone you like and respect wants to touch you.

Still, it doesn't take all that long to show her all the livable spaces. If you don't want to count the ductwork, which you're pretty sure is only "livable" in some horrifying clown-based conception of the world, and you...feel guilty as hell for it but you don't really want to run into him tonight. Dealing with him is always so complicated anymore, and this visit isn't complicated at all. It's just cool.

"That's about it, I guess," you say, turning your back on the ventilation shaft. "I don't know, you, uh, want to watch a movie or something? Or we could spar. If. If you're into that."

Meenah looks down at you, this thoughtful predatory expression on her face that makes the words die in your windchute while your thinkpan scrambles to reboot. "We should get you blinged up," she says, and tugs on your earlobe.

You say something that sounds entirely too much like "peep?"

"Get you a matching set to go with my shine," she says, touching her eyebrow with her free hand so you'll pay attention to the rings there.

"Wow," you say. "I—really?"

She hesitates. "Too fast?" she says. "Too much for a first date?"

The entire world stutters around you and stalls. You're on a date? You: awkward pathetic mutant pariah who doesn't really even have _friends_ , who has fucked up multiple quadrants and only managed to hang onto a moirail in absentia. Meenah: gorgeous outgoing deadly seadweller, actual alternate universe self of Her Imperious Condescension, older and more confident and generally outrageously cool. You're on a _date_. With _her_.

And she's looking upset now, her face slowly falling like you've just ruined her night. "No," you say, "no, sorry, not too much, I was just—a little surprised? Uh. It hasn't really been romance central for me around here. Shit, that makes me sound like a loser. I just mean, fuck, let's do it, that sounds awesome."

Meenah hugs you. Her rumble spheres crush up against you and they're soft and full and other distracting adjectives as well. "Sweet," she says. "Lemme get a shot at your alchemiter and I'll make up a set of swank little matching jams for my buoy."

You're pretty sure you'd let her do nearly anything right now, holy shit. You go with her back to the alchemiter and watch while she makes a set of four little gold rings with fuchsia stones in them, and then a set of wickedly sharp needles to match. You can't stop staring at the rings. Fuchsia. Tyrian. She wants you wearing her color.

"This shit's gonna sting," she tells you. "You wanna go back to your plaice, get a little moray comfortable?"

"Yes," you say immediately. "That sounds great."

Meenah captchalogues her supplies and slings an arm over your shoulders again as you head back to your block. You dare to put your arm around her waist this time and she leans into you and your bloodpusher explodes a little. Wow.

"Okay," you say when you get back to your block, "so... where do you want me?" Then you blush like an idiot.

"Uh," she says, "just get a seat?" She doesn't seem to have noticed what an awful porno line that sounded like, and you're mostly glad.

You sit down in your computer chair and try not to squirm or shiver too much when she brushes your hair back from your earflap. You've never had anything pierced, and you think it probably can't be worse than getting injured during the game, but it's hard to relax all the same. You weren't just sitting and waiting to get hurt then.

"Aight," Meenah says. "Let's get this shoal on the road."

"Do it," you say. You close your eyes.

The pain is a sharp, bright sting, pulsing through your nerves and making you tense all over. Then the sharpness fades and it just feels like heat and pressure, throbbing in time with your blood. You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, and it comes out shaky.

"You cool?" Meenah asks.

"Yeah," you breathe. "It's... totally different from getting hurt in a fight." You feel weirdly centered, tingly but calm.

"Hang on a minnow," Meenah says. You keep breathing, and she does something that feels hotter and pinchy and awkward for a few seconds. "Fucking _sweet_ ," she says. "Check it." She pops a hand mirror out of her sylladex and hands it to you, and you angle it to try to get a look at your ear.

The lobe is a little swollen but there's the ring, shining bright gold, going right through your flesh. The glittering stone bead at the bottom of the ring is a visible reminder that it was _Meenah_ who put it there, her color in your ear. Your skin prickles all over. "Do the next one," you say.

"Shore thing," she says. You put your hands down in your lap and go back to breathing calmly. She leans close again.

It hurts a little more the second time—because your body's already reacting to the first one, maybe?—but you still don't mind it. You exhale as she pushes the needle through and there's this weird feeling of _relief_ that comes with it, this sense of lightness and calm that floods through you in the wake of the sharp spike of pain.

"Doing reel good," Meenah says, her thumb brushing the side of your neck in a slow stroke that makes you shiver hard.

"Yeah," you agree. Your voice comes out husky and low. You could maybe brush that off, except that when she trades the needle for the ring that time you make a sound in your throat that you have _definitely_ never made in front of someone before.

She goes really still, but she still has her hands on you, so you don't _quite_ curl up and die. Yet. "Vantas?" she says. "Still eeling okay?"

You lick your lips. "Just fine," you say. "Pretty great." You look up at her and find her watching your face, her lips parted and cheeks flushed. "I'm fine to keep going, if. If you want to."

"Yeah," she says, soft and hoarse. "I'm cool with that."

She moves around to your other side and you just think about being still and calm. You don't fucking feel calm at all. Every beat of your bloodpusher gets echoed in the fresh piercings, and pain ought to be upsetting, ought to be a _warning_ , but you know she's about to do the same damage on the other side and you feel completely content with the idea.

The needle goes through your other lobe and you make another sound, this low, involuntary, "Hnn." You can feel the pulse of your blood between your legs almost as hard as you feel it in the piercings. That's fucked up, isn't it? This isn't anything like blackrom. Why would pain like this make you—

"Wow," Meenah breathes. "You ain't gotta keep your trap shut, you know." You glance over in time to see her swallow hard. You don't care if it's fucked up.

She fits the ring into that hole and you let yourself say, "Oh," without trying to hold it back this time. Her breath stutters and her gills make a faint, wet sound that ties your gastric sac in a neat little knot.

"One more," she says, and you wish she'd made twice as many rings so you could just keep doing this, holy shit, and then she adds, "so make some noise for me," and your nook clenches so hard you want to just curl into a little ball around that raw need.

"Do it," you say, and then you tack on, "please," because you don't want to be an asshole right now. You want it to feel good and you want her to be happy with you and you're chewing on your lip as you wait for her to line up the last needle—and then she pushes it in and you moan.

"Oh my cod," she whispers. "You look good in my rings, babe."

_That_ hits you right in the bulge, and you whimper. "Feels good to wear them," you say. "Feels good to, to have you give them to me."

Her hands are shaking when she trades needle for ring the last time, and she fumbles trying to get the bead in place. It hurts extra and you don't care. When she's gotten it seated right she drags you out of the chair, sinking easily to the floor and pulling you into her lap. You think you're going to die and it's really weird to look in her eyes and see them blank so you close yours and she kisses you. She _kisses_ you, oh god.

You open your mouth and that's her tongue, those are her narrow viciously sharp teeth, those are her arms locking tight around your waist to keep you close. You make more helpless noises into her mouth and you can feel the way she shivers and that just makes you noisier. Fuck holding back or having shame or whatever, Meenah kisses you harder when you moan for her and you could stand to have that feedback loop keep going, thanks.

When she slides a hand up under your shirt and rakes her nails across your back your moans jump an octave, and she releases your mouth to say, "We good?"

"So good," you pant. "Do it hard, I like aaah," you don't have to ask twice—she claws you like she means it and you buck in her lap, bulge swelling and straining hard enough to chafe against your jeans. "Yes, yes, yes," you chant, kneading at her shoulders as she wrecks you.

"Lemme get this off you?" she asks, pulling up your shirt.

Fuck. Oh fuck. This is probably the point where you _should_ decide this is too fast, too much for a first date in any quadrant. Past you would have wanted to take it slow, make sure it was the real thing, spend a lot of time pining for each other and talking feelings and planning for the future that no longer exists. Past you was an asshole.

"Yeah. Fuck, yeah, I'm game. Let's—we don't get a lot of chances, you know? So. So, um. Whatever you're up for. I'm game."

"Sweet," Meenah says, hushed and intense, and peels your shirt up over your head—carefully, easing it around your ears without snagging any of the rings. Your bloodpusher beats so hard you think it's trying to stage a direct escape through your thoracic struts. Nobody except your lusus has ever seen you even this far undressed, but if she wanted to...

She's taking _her_ shirt off, too, holy shit. She tosses it aside with yours and her support harness goes after it and her bare skin presses against yours and you couldn't hold back the purr if you tried. She bites your shoulder and you croon. You lick her earfin and she trills. It's completely fucking glorious.

You slide one hand carefully down her side and press your palm to her crotch, stroking where you can feel a lump in the fabric. "Aw, shell yes," she says, and she sounds about as giddy as you feel. "You really wanna...?"

"If you do," you say, which is understating the case a lot. "Yes?"

"Fuck it," Meenah says. "Yeah."

She goes after the buttons of your jeans and you fumble with the zipper on hers and then you are getting really _actually_ naked with someone, someone who likes you, someone who wants to pail you, someone gorgeous and intense and cool who knows what your damage is and doesn't care, and you briefly wonder if you have somehow entered a doomed timeline where you are allowed to be happy before deciding that _you don't care_.

Your clothes and hers together make barely the shadow of a pile but the two of you tumble onto them just the same, and she kisses you again and her bulge is coiling around yours and you could die happy right now, it feels so good. You're leaking, smearing little trails of fluid across both of your skin, and you feel like you're on fire from the inside out. The tip of her bulge finds your nook and twists, coiling slowly into you, and you keen. Your bulge is mimicking the operation just fine on instinct, thank fuck, because if you had to apply conscious effort right now you would be doomed to failure.

You slip into her as she eels her way deeper into you, and everything is those sensations: soft rippling flesh around you, the pulse and curl filling you up. Her bulge is so much bigger than your fingers, her nook so much sleeker than the tunnel of your closed hand. She takes you by the hips and pulls you flush against her so you can fill each other deeper, and you moan.

"Yeah," she agrees, breathy and soft. "Fucking brill-iant, Vantas."

You nod sharply. "It's so. Ah." The tip of your bulge has found a spot deep in her nook that demands all of its attention, and she groans at the way that feels. Then you feel her bulge doing something—doing a couple of somethings inside you at once, holy shit: her tip starts to tease your seedflap and her root starts to thicken and knot up, putting pressure on your globes. You cling to her shoulders. "F-fuck that's weird."

Meenah laughs shakily. "No shit," she says, and you realize you're swelling, too, and the thicker the base of your bulge gets the more you can feel her seedflap relax, until it lets you in at the same time that yours opens enough for her.

The pleasure makes you giddy, incoherent, each long pulse as you pump fluid out of your bulge, each thrumming shiver as you clench down around hers. You pant and shake, trapped in each other, your guard let down, and it's every bit as amazing as your most overblown romance novels made it sound. It's better.

Meenah runs her fingers along the rim of your ear and you whimper. They're still so tender, so hot from the piercings. She shudders at the sound you make, and you can feel that all over and it's amazing. "Damn, buoy," she says. "Damn, listen to you."

She touches your ear again and she seems to like it when you let the pain just fuck you up, so you stop trying to be stoic about it. You moan, and she digs her claws in a little further up than the piercings so you get another little jolt of sharpness. You sob, and all of your junk pulses at once. "Again," you plead.

That makes _her_ moan, and you can feel the pulse of slurry in your genetic bladder as her bulge ripples. You're starting to feel swollen, full, heavy with the weight of her fluid. It's the weirdest fucking thing and it's almost uncomfortable but it's good, too. The stretch and the swell are doing things to you, flipping switches in your pan or something, getting you high on the thrill of doing right by your genes. You've never felt so fucking blissed out in your life.

It all just _blurs_ , the pain and the fullness and the feel of her skin, the noises she makes and the relief of being able to spill your own genetic material inside her. You lose track of time. You're stupid with it, and you don't care.

Your bulge retracts enough to release her seedflap when you're finally completely wrung out and emptied. Meenah shivers against you, trilling, and she's still pulsing inside you, stretching you out, filling you with as much of her genetic material as you can take. You hiss and curse and lap at her fins, clenching down around her to milk her dry, until she gives you one last hard shudder and stills.

You wince a little at the feel of her bulge releasing your seedflap, and the momentary weirdness before it clenches shut again. Then you're just giggling into her shoulder, purring, and when she starts to purr back it's the best sound in the universe.

"Wow," she says, "hot damn."

"Yeah," you say, "yeah, that's. Exactly what just happened here." Meenah kisses you sloppily. You grin into her mouth and kiss back, tired and stupidly content. You touch her hair, her fins, the smooth elegant curve of one horn. You'd always thought this sounded like the best part, in romances: after the exchange is done, when the lovers can just be quiet and intimate with each other, sharing a moment of calm while they wait for their swollen bulges to unknot and retract. You're purring helplessly into her mouth and squeezing your eyes shut so you don't burst into overwhelmed, relieved tears.

"We still on for that rumble with the big bad?" she asks.

You nod. You'd follow her straight into the demon's jaws, the way you feel right now. "Shell yes," you say, because you don't even care if it sounds dumb anymore.

Meenah _squeaks_ , and hugs you hard. "You're my fucking favorite, Vantas," she says.

Anything you could possibly say is going to sound ridiculous, so you kiss her again. You don't even know what to call these feelings—it would be weird to say you _pitied_ her, when you admire her so much. But this is definitely not caliginous territory, either. So...

Nope, you can't bring yourself to freak out about that, either. Pailing appears to have kind of broken your head.

Your bulge slips free of Meenah's nook at last, and you make a quiet, involuntary trill as you feel cool air on the wet flesh. Not being inside her anymore makes it retract a lot faster, especially after she withdraws from you, too. You think you could just curl up in her lap and sleep for a week.

The weird color saturation of the dream bubble is starting to fade, though. "Shit," you say as you look at the way her horns are starting to fade. "We're running out of time again already."

"And I still ain't shore how to haul your fine glutes off with me," Meenah says, frowning.

"Yeah." It's too _soon_. You've barely had any time with her, and it's been so great in ways you weren't expecting at all—you don't want to have to give that up. "You still want to take me with you though, huh?"

Meenah grins. "You betta bereef it," she says.

"Cool," you say, which is the biggest understatement of at least the last sweep. "I... maybe I can talk to Kanaya about it. She's a Space player; she might have some ideas."

"Good prawn," Meenah says. She reaches for her shirt. She definitely looks less vibrant, less present, than she did a minute ago. "Next time for shore."

You nod. "For shore," you agree, and she kisses you one more time before space-time wobbles and wrenches around you and you're left on the floor alone.

Your ears still ache in a way that makes you happy, and your nook feels pleasantly used, and you can feel the heavy fullness of your genetic bladder when you move. You cup your hands over your lower belly, and you can't tell if it's your imagination or if there really is a roundness there that wasn't there before. The idea makes your skin prickle in a way you sort of like.

You should go find a pail to release it into. The schoolfeeds were all pretty insistent on the fact that retaining slurry internally is uncomfortable, but you're not feeling it yet. You feel _weird_ , sure, but not uncomfortable. It's still a good kind of weird. Maybe you'll just curl up here for a little while and relax. You don't get to feel this calm or content very often, after all. You'll just stay here for now and enjoy it as long as it lasts.


End file.
